


Make Him a Member of The Midnight Crew

by TheProfessionalShooshPapper



Category: Homestuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheProfessionalShooshPapper/pseuds/TheProfessionalShooshPapper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was just a project for school.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Make Him a Member of The Midnight Crew

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a project for school.

Your name is Diamonds Droog and you are a member of The Midnight Crew. Your boss, Spades Slick, has called a mandatory meeting for the members of your crew, and you are currently sitting with your feet upon the table in his office. Hearts Boxcars, the third member of your crew, and the largest, is stationed next to you, leaning against your chair. Slick sits behind his desk, impatiently toying with one of his many knives. You’re all waiting on the last member, Clubs Deuce. He is always late.  
Slick slams his knife into the woodwork as the tiny body of Deuce bursts through the door.  
“Where the hell have you been?!” your boss demands.  
Deuce hesitates for a moment, “Sorry boss. I got a little side tracked.”  
Slick glares at him before sighing angrily.  
“Now that we’re all here, we can get down to business.”  
You share a glance with Boxcars before returning your attention to your boss.  
“I am dismissing The Midnight Crew.”  
Wow. Slick never beats around the bush, does he?  
“Whaaaat?!” you hear Deuce whine.  
To be completely honest, you suspected this. Your has never been one to stick to his projects and to him The Midnight Crew was just another project.  
“Shut up, Deuce. I ain’t finished,” Slick barks, “We are going to be serving the queen, her almighty condesce.”

Years in the future, but not many, you are taking your time with your feet upon your desk, smoking a cigarette. Your name is now Draconian Dignitary. The condesce has ordered you to get rid of four kids stationed in Prospit and Derse. The first two, the two on Prospit, have already been dealt with, which leaves the two on Derse. They’ve been nothing but trouble. The girl sleepwalks, often leaving no trace, meaning you never have any inclination of her whereabouts. The boy never sleeps and has already killed one of your men. It’s a shame. Hearts Boxcars was a great guy to work with. Oh well. Life goes on. You need to focus on how you’re going to catch this brat before he causes you any more trouble. The condesce and the boss will have your head. Obviously, you’re in no hurry. You never are. You like to take things nice and slow. You like to keep a casual administrative style. The boss is always in a hurry, all wound up like a knife wielding top. Personally, you don't see the harm in playing it cool.  
Earlier, you sought help from the old lady, the queen. You were pretty slick with the whole ordeal, offering to light her cigarette during a deliberate pause. She doesn’t even smoke. You’re just that fine. You even went as far as to go and act as though you didn’t care much one way or the other. Although, you really didn’t care one way or the other. This gained you the privilege to operate one of her famous Dronegorgs. You had to kindly turn down her offer. Only a fool would get a kick out of operating one of those things. They have no style. You adroitly brought up another alternative. The boss would have no tact in such matters. It’s only common knowledge that you need to handle the regal types in a certain way. They are very touchy people. But if you know all the right things to say and do, she will happily hand over the keys to the kingdom, so to speak.  
Reaching into your suit, you shove your hand into the inside pocket. A cold metal object finds its way into your grasp. It glistens as you gaze upon it sitting in the palm of your hand. The queen’s ring looks just like any other golden ring, but only an imbecile would think that it was a normal ring. You toss it lightly onto your desk, putting your feet down and smashing your cigarette into the ashtray. The coffee you made this morning is still sitting on your desk. It’s probably cold by now, but you take a sip anyways. You take the ring in your hand, spinning it on your desk like a top. You watch as it spins towards your coffee mug then ricochets into your ashtray and then towards the middle of your desk. Casually you snatch the ring as you stand and hold it between your thumb and forefinger.  
As you place the golden ring on your finger, you can feel the surge of power. It’s as if your veins have been filled with lava or you’ve been struck by a bolt of lightning. Your body becomes hot to the point where it almost hurts and you feel truly alive. You relish the feeling. This ring will give you the power to do anything. That means you can get your work done and over with and you can dispose of those useless cronies. Being the penultimagent was a pain, but now you’ve got your work cut out for you. With this ring you’ve got all the power. All of it.  
Most people who use the ring undergo tacky transformations. You’re not that type. Really, you don't know why everyone's always got to be transforming from things into other things. Where’s the class? It astounds you how terrible their imaginations are. Enough about them though. You’re the one with the ring now. Let’s see what it can do. You wonder for a moment if it can make you invisible. Obviously it can, and it does. There you are. Standing by your desk. Invisible. There’s barely any style to invisibility. It’s just a fancy trick that’s a waste of everyone's time and it definitely won’t help you track down that kid. You decide to become visible once more. Smugly, you pull another cigarette from your box, lighting it, then raise your hand above your head. Invisibility won’t help you, but the ring’s true power will. Calling upon the red miles, you smirk. A red glow slowly writhes from your hand, sailing through the air. The snake like tendrils branch out like veins and grow bigger with each passing second. The kid can’t escape from the red miles. No one can escape the miles.


End file.
